Desperate Measures
by ksaac
Summary: A constant diary told by Eric Cartman's perspective. He's fifteen, he's articulate, he's difficult, but most of all he's in love.
1. Chapter 1

My name is Eric Theodore Cartman. Everybody calls me Cartman, or as I've learned over the years, everybody who hates my guts calls me Cartman. Despite the fact that Cartman is just my surname, I've found out that the definition is 'fat manipulative asshole' and a few other junctions, but that's pretty much it in a nutshell.

I don't really notice it. Then again, I don't really notice anybody who calls me Eric either. I can't afford to. If anyone knows I have a preference to either or it'll just be used against me like the fucking Cuban Missile Crisis.

I know Butters calls me Eric. Like. All the fucking time. It can't be a term of respect because really he follows me around like a god damn lap dog but I figured out that everybody calls him Butters, not just people that hate him.

I think that makes a difference. But I haven't asked him about it. And I won't ever ask him.

Right now, I've pulled him into my garage. He starts getting nervous that I've hunched some evil scheme again.

"Well, uh, Eric, I dunno about this..."

He's fifteen and he still fucking talks like this by the way. It drives me up the wall. And this isn't the first time I've pulled him into my garage, so you'd think he'd get the fucking hint that I don't bring him here for shit like that.

I actually bring him in here to work on my mom's minivan, which is mine once I get my drivers license she said.

It's definitely not the type of car I ever imagined myself driving when I turned sixteen. Like seriously, I look like such a house husband when I help lug groceries into the house with my mom from the trunk. I look fucking ridiculous, I can already tell. But I put that all aside even when I picture myself pulling up into the school parking lot in this 'safety vehicle' because as long as I have one hand on the steering wheel I feel like such a fucking man.

I've been bringing Butters here the past few times while I tinker around with the engine under the hood, learning all the parts and pieces with a few car manuals scattered around my feet.

He doesn't really do all that fucking much, but that's not really the whole point. It's never been the point the last few years. I just like having him around in case I get hungry and need a snack.

I've been very bad at filtering around him lately. And I don't mean cussing. Because I cuss all the fucking time. I mean when he gets me to start talking, he gets me to start talking from the heart. I would say it's a gigantic piss off but for some reason I keep bringing him back, so he just lets me talk.

When I was thirteen I told him I had a crush on Kyle Broflovski, which I figured I will save for talking about later, and if I start talking about Kyle Broflovski now, I'll get all pissed off and besides Butters talks about him enough.

"Gee, Eric, I bet if you told Kyle you liked him as much as you tell me, he'd think you were being real honest. I bet he would give you a chance and everything!" Butters was always trying to sound optimistic about me getting together with Kyle.

I ran my chubby fingers through a oily dish rag like it was supposed to clean them off, "I already told you, Butters, it isn't something I'm trying to pursue."

I'm telling the truth too. It's not like I ever try to put myself in a position where I try to get Kyle to like me any better anyway.

See I've speculated this image around school being 'Cartman' which in case you've already forgotten means 'fat manipulative asshole'.

I never found a point of trying to prove otherwise. And besides I'm really good at being a fat manipulative asshole. In fact, I'm constantly trying to enhance the nickname into a title.

When I turned fourteen I actually cried about my cat dying. Not in front of Butters. But I did tell Butters about it. Nobody came to to the funeral, not even me.

I remembered I heard the door knocking when I was done putting on my waistcoat and tie and it was Kevin. I thought at first Kevin responded to my Facebook invitation but it wasn't that.

He just stopped by my house to call me out for being an asshole when I stole all his homework the other day to copy it off of him. At first, I asked, gingerly I might add, but he told me no. It might have had to do with the fact that I told him Asians were really good at math.

So I nicked it off of him. Fuck him. My best friend just died and I didn't have time to finish it so I took all of his homework when he wasn't looking and fucked him over for his next classes for not having his homework handed in.

I rolled my eyes and shoved his homework into his chest. He said it didn't matter anymore cause he got zeros on all his assignments.

Well fuck him I remembered thinking. Serves you right for being such a dickhead about sharing answers. So I shoved him. Right flat on his ass on my front step. It was the first time I had been violent since I became 'even tempered'.

I didn't send him to the hospital or anything but I remember us tackling each other on my sidewalk. I did however blow the palm of my hand to his face. I read somewhere online that using your palm on someone's nose could break all the cartilage and I'm sure I would have busted up his stupid nose but I messed it up and instead just made his eyes water.

"Fuck off, Kevin! You ruined my suit you stupid chink! Get the hell off my lawn or I'll drive my boot so far up your ass your intestines will come out your mouth!"

I was put into what my mom would call a 'foul and rotten mood' after I kicked Kevin off my property.

So I tore off my tie cause I started feeling suffocated and slept on my couch until I woke up with a blanket draped lazily over me. Probably the work of my mom.

I stepped outdoors to the makeshift funeral I made. It was dark out so I had to turn the porch lights on. Mr. Kitty was still in his shoe box. I sighed. I couldn't just leave him there, so I dug out a reasonable hole in the ground in the half light and half dark and buried him in the ground with my bare hands.

I didn't cry. I just went inside, took a shower and skipped classes that day. My suit was rented so I couldn't even return it. It had holes it in from where the pocket seams were ripped when Kevin grabbed me somewhere in the fight.

Sometime in the early evening Kyle stopped by. You could tell he felt sorta bad cause he gets this look on his face. It's not exactly remorse for me, but more so that Kyle is such a good natured person that he just felt bad about being inconsiderate. Not to me. But just as a person. It must be a guilty conscious.

"Hey dude," He tried to say nonchalantly, but his lips were pursing. I guess I must have come across intimidating. It wasn't like that though. I just realized at that moment I really wanted to kiss Kyle on the lips. It made me so angry. At myself partly for feeling like such an emotional faggot, but mostly because I couldn't do it.

"I uh, listen I just wanted to apologize for not showing up yesterday for the funeral. That was a dick move, Cartman. So, yeah, I'm sorry about that." It came out more sarcastic than genuine, but I knew it was difficult for him to own up to me.

"That was real charitable of you, Kyle. Real ballsy." I just deadpanned.

He shifted uncomfortably and then pulled out a couple worksheets from his backpack. I forgot we were actually working on an assignment together in History. It was about the Aztecs. There wasn't a lot for us to argue about when it came to the Aztecs so it was more boring than anything, "I also have your homework. Can I come inside?"

I got out of his way and took up a seat on the couch. He left a reasonable amount of space between us when he sat down and sighed.

"Look, Cartman, I can imagine you're probably feeling pretty upset right now, but you shouldn't let that affect our grade. This is a big assignment. You should talk about it and," He seemed pretty distressed cause he sighed again, "I'm here right now if you need a shoulder to cry on."

You know that lump you get in your throat. Yeah, you've read it in every fucking novel that has the protagonist crying so I'm going to avoid the detail of that because you already know it's happening.

"I'm not gonna cry on your shoulder, Kyle. I'm not even that upset about it." I really hope this will move him on so he can just talk about the importance of our mark, but I know Kyle much better than that. He pries and gets all preachy. I can't bear to handle it right now so I cradle my forehead into my hands preparing for the worst.

And delivered. "Not that upset?" He repeats in disbelief, "Of course you are, Cartman! Why wouldn't you be? I've never seen you love something more than that mangy cat of yours! It's okay to be upset!"

I hate when he tries to humanize me. He does it all the time, I'm surprised he hasn't quit long ago cause I always try to prove him otherwise. "Kyle!" I say through my teeth, "Put a fucking cork in it! You don't know what the hell you're even talking about!" It's at this point I realize I've already started crying. It's so silent though, I don't want to be caught and I don't think Kyle notices because he keeps talking.

He won't stop. I can't do another gay speech of his. But at the same time, like fighting someone I haven't cried in a really long time. I realize what I can't do without is an end to one of his gay speeches.

"If you're just gonna sit there and ignore me, then that's fine by me, but I'm going home then!" I feel a weight being lifted from the couch, but he can't go. Not yet. I pull him back by the sleeve and he's on the couch.

I wished I could have seen his expression because there's a long pause and I guess it's hesitation because he put his hand on my back and like clockwork I started crying hard into my hand. I can't have him see, but I can't have him leave either because I'm pulling him closer to me as I tug onto his sleeve.

It ends as quickly as it started, thank God. I take a deep breath and look at him.

"Thank you, Kyle."

"You're welcome."

He half smiles and god fucking dammit I need to kiss him so bad again. He looks heartfelt and if he doesn't leave now I might just start crying again.

"Look, I need to be myself for a while so can you maybe just fuck off and leave?" I ask of him.

He laughed, "Yeah, I get it Cartman. Will I see you tomorrow?" I shrugged, "Okay, well until then," I can tell he doesn't know what to say but he knows well enough that this goes unspoken as of right now. "See you later, dude."

I wave him off and then use the sleeve of my shirt to rub my drippy nose. God. I'm so fucking gross.

When I told Butters this one night while I was teaching him how to play the card game Speed, he clutched his hands together, dropping his cards and ruining the whole fucking game.

"Ah, goddammit Butters! I was fucking winning this round! Now we have to start all over!" I was winning every round though but I was still pissed he had to act like this was big news.

"Oh, Eric, it sounds like you're making uh, real progress!" He said happily. That was what he called it when I told him anything that happened between me and Kyle. Progress. Like I haven't known Kyle for the entirety of my life so any time I interact with him it's called making progress.

Honestly, I still eat lunch next to Kyle. I still go play video games with him at his house. And I still go and play basketball with him.

There's nothing I don't do now with him that I haven't done in the past. Except cry. I'll give Butters that. I don't cry anymore to anyone.

Butters comes back in the garage with a sandwich. I look through the bread to see what he's made. It has lettuce, tomato, black olives (that's different but I love black olives) red onions, mustard and hearty helpings of turkey. It tastes fucking delicious. And I really appreciate the black olives.

I sit on my skateboard I use to wheel myself under the vehicle and Butters takes up a seat next to me.

He grabbed us two cans of Dr. Pepper from the fridge and once I wolf down half the sandwich I crack my soda open and drink half the can already.

"Do you like it?" He smiles. I shrug. He looks like an abused spouse to be honest. Like way too fucking timid and cautious and ready to appease me.

"So where's the first place you're gonna drive to once you get your licence, Eric?"

Anywhere, I think to myself.


	2. Chapter 2

"Eric Cartman, I believe writing down your feelings will be a healthy and efficient way for you to devoid yourself of all of these negative emotions."

I raised my eyebrow. It is very rare I show the slightest hint of my attention span to any dickwad therapist who thinks he can dictate my fucking life.

Usually I'm very vacant in his office but this is probably the most non biased bullshit this guy has ever said to me, and he said negative so that isn't saying much.

I sighed and crossed my arms underneath my chest. "Can your dick touch your butt hole?" I ask politely.

"I - excuse me?"

"A yes or no will suffice, doctor, can your penis touch your butt hole?" I have a knack for getting people to obey eventually. Ah, reputation, a seductress at her finest.

Really, that whole 'tell a lie over and over again and eventually people will believe you' quote was not Adolf Hitler, but Joseph Goebbels.

"I suppose, perhaps, maybe." He answered shyly.

"Oh, good!" I perked up, "Then go fuck yourself."

Despite voicing my dislike for this crack pot son of a bitch, I will give the bastard some unwanting credit, thanks to him, I've been writing in this, ah fuck, it's not really a fucking diary, but I have been writing in this notebook since he cued said quote.

Ah, and my mundane mother was waiting for me in the lobby. She was checking out pamphlets for 'does your kid suffer from ADHD' and 'How to tell if your child has Aspergers' Well not my stuffing cooked patties and buns in your underwear. I laughed to myself.

"Oh, poopsikins!" She chimed when she caught me standing there, waiting impatiently for her to haul ass and go home. She didn't, you could expect, instead she dusted off imaginary lint from the shoulders of my hoodie, "What did you think? Did you like this doctor?" She looked at me hopefully, anticipating a positive answer.

I'm not one to criticize my mother as much as I used to anymore. I've figured out that she's just not a very good mother, and well, I'm not a very good son so I don't know why she bothers me anymore.

"I'm not going to another one of these damn things anymore." I told her. "And if you send me here again, I will make sure to personally detach that man's emotional wellbeing."

"Oh." Her face dropped and her sing song voice faded. She gathered up her things, stuffing a few home living magazines into her purse before we left the building to her minivan.

The next day, at school during lunch I'm sitting next to Kenny and Butters in on the other side of the table, Kyle next to him and Stan next to Kyle. Like they were just fucking meant to be.

I try not to let it bother me. Because it shouldn't. They are far from gay as I joke them around to be. And besides that she hippie still has Stan bound in a ball and chain like a pathetic little lap dog and he couldn't seem to care less about it.

In fact she stops by the table, her hemp poncho swaying side to side and billowy against her shapeless body. And I'm saying this not as a fucking asshole, but as the fucking truth.

She tries so desperately to appear unattractive, it's fucking unbelievable. She wears no makeup, her hair frays all the way down her back, she wears no bra and rain boots instead of snow boots. She's hot, but in a very non conventional way.

Stan wraps his hand around the small of her back innocently.

"Stan, please." She begged, "Public displays of affection are a man made device of exterior romance for male dominance. You know how I feel about it."

I snort when Stan smiles apologetically. She's fucking hilarious.

I mean, I've never seen Wendy kiss Stan before except maybe drunkingly by accident at a house party. But what if she kissed him on purpose in front of people. Is it still male dominance?

Knowing her feminist ass, she would somehow make it that way.

"Kyle," Kyle looks up from underneath his unruly curls when Wendy addresses him, "I still need your analysis for our controversial topic of Huckleberry Finn for debate."

The school is making them decide whether classes when prompted to read out loud should say the word nigger or not.

"That's not for another two days?" Kyle replied. I have to mirror Wendy's look of astonishment. Kyle has always been known for delivering projects before the due date.

Wendy shifts side to side before she smiles, "It's a tender subject, yeah," Wendy agrees. "Take your time. I can't wait to see what you come up with." Kyle smiled back.

"Is it really that fucking hard to say nigger?" I ask.

Kyle frowned.

"Are you allowed to say nigger in your argument or do you still have the say the n-word like the word is some big fucking secret."

"It's not that you idiot." Kyle scoffed, "It's a lot to take in from a white perspective, not that you have a very cleansed white perspective."

"I'm all white evil baby!" I cheer to myself, but Kenny smiles, not because he agrees but because besides pussy whipped Butters, he's my friend too as much as he is to Stan and Kyle.

"Exactly." Kyle agreed, "Well I was watching a documentation last night with my dad about the controversy of Huckleberry Finn in public schools, and in some schools, students are forced to say the word out loud. So instead they use the word as a literary word instead of a hateful word. It was very interesting." Kyle takes a sip of his milk and I hate how cute he looks when he wipes the moustache from his upper lip.

He continued after a gulp and his adam apple bobbed, "But it warped my opinion a bit. I am a firm believer of freedom of speech, but when I think of that word, I think of Token and I have no idea how he feels."

"Why should you? You're not black."

Kyle looks taken aback, and then a little offended. Like he thinks I'm possibly the most stupidest person to walk the face of the earth. "Exactly, so who am I to say who should and shouldn't use that word."

"That's the stupidest fucking thing you've ever said." I shook my head disappointedly, "You're just suffering from white guilt. That's like Stan and Wendy speaking up for animals who don't want to be tested on. They're not fucking rabbits are they? So maybe they shouldn't say whether or not they want to get painful skin irritation or disfiguration. Maybe they want to look like Leatherface?"

Kyle's ears turn red. "And that's the stupidest fucking thing you've ever said." And cue another argument that goes on until the lunch bell ring. I would go into detail before I love talking about how his lips curl and I get to see his canine teeth. He's really something else to look at.

But I'll spare you the details, because I like to take that last line of his and feel a little victorious. I think he hates to admit that being a fucking awful human being is sometimes just natural. Then again, I could be wrong because Kyle is just such a wholesome person most of the time.

Butters shook his head wearily at me after class. "Aw, Eric, why do you gotta make things worse between you and Kyle?"

"They were never that fucking great in the first place, retard." I pointed out to which Butters could not find a response to.


End file.
